Stories From the Deep Vol 1
by Independent Cataclysm
Summary: From behind the bars of her black carriage she begged, and pleaded. So a bargain was struck in depths of the Cathedral, one soul for another. Rated M for disturbing imagery.
1. Act 0

_**Stories From the Deep**_

" _Duty is sacred, faith is law._

 _Honor thy brother, lest light will fall._

 _Desirest nothing, from ist whence thou came._

 _Neigh, giveth nothing, gods ye shall shame._

 _For flame ist salvation, tend to one should._

 _From embers to ashes is the greatest good."_

 _~The Child's First Holy, a treatise to flame and ash._


	2. Act 1

_Act 1: The Steps_

I couldn't stand the way he ate. I was forced to be this savage's hostage, his incessant gnawing and dribbling, I'm certain it would make a greater man's skin crawl. Considering this ironic predicament, there was no man or beast that I feared, save this creature, and being ripped from the front lines wasn't my choice. His grace, Arch Deacon McDonnell, insisted matter-of-factly a "man of my talents would be put to better use protecting him."

He's afraid.

Why shouldn't he be? It's not as if he isn't aware he wolfs it down like it's his final meal, no, he simply disregards it. Someone who has given up on eating like a man has given up a hell of a lot more than himself. He knows it. That's exactly why he's afraid. That's why I was abducted from my comrades watch this beast soil himself like a bloated pig.

Deep down, we both know that if he's even refusing to care for himself, he certainly sees little of the kingdom. Anor Londo is husk of its former self, gods abandoned the stones and not a single flame lit albeit the flickers from the mumbling deacons. Their chants haunt me, cruel reminders of my idleness, forced to watch the black carriages escort more for the boar of the deep whilst I stagnate on these steps.

This is truly hell….

A pale, young woman was escorted by our great Pontiff to a tower for lodging while another, shorter young woman was in tow. However, she was in the black carriage penitent in posture, as if begging?

What god will honor her prayer?


	3. Act 2

Act 2: Young White Branch

Children of the Boreal city cleverly hid among the birches playing illusions, hiding from the fears of night. There one such child would play each morn until there were only the birds to deceive. Soft snow with the sturdy birches gifted her peace of heart, while in exchange she would laugh and bask in the happy sun. Black carriages came each day into Irythyll, passing the knights on the quiet stones as they were hoisted up the monolith of Anor Londo. Young Dorhy would grasp her favorite branch, slinking on the steps, to watch the carriages transport their guests into the castle.

' _How I wish I could be a queen, I could trot in those carriages with splendor and then eat anything I wanted..'_

Whilst planning her cleverest ruse among the birches Dorhy found upon a somber face within a beautiful black carriage. Using her most reliable tricks she would satiate her curiosity trailing the steps once more ignoring the biting wind and cutting flakes of snow. Silently the knights would suffer through yet another guest entering the castle, yet this guest rendered each man on edge. Lines of the soldiers refused to break form, perfectly straight, as caged royalty was slowly brought to the stone and metal gates.

' _Why is someone so sad when they're in a vessel so perfect?'_

Dorhy would stalk the carriage as an apex predator, body low and gait soft, passing the stone and steel gates, passing the candelabras for service, passing every creaking wooden pew. Her prey found its unwelcome nest near the Saint of the Deep, and so Gwendolyn would weep and beg for her sister. Drooling it savored each desperate emotion until she was ready to eat. The marble refused to recognize the caged woman's pleas as they echoed through Dorhy. She would bare witness to a horrifying truth until the moment gave itself to gluttony, a god would pass.

Warded by fear and her favorite branch she ran back to the birches for sanctuary under a happy sun only to be eclipsed by every black carriage that would pass, its cargo damned up the steps of Anor Londo. Every carriage held the face of deep sorrow, hopelessness, or terror until finally Doryhy saw herself in one of the faces in the carriage.

So she would scream herself awake, eyes wide open, standing next to her favorite birch morning and night, morning and night.


	4. Act 3

Act 3: Unlit Candlesticks

Every day was the same, we prayed and pilgrimed in the hopes of giving others warmth or light and so we would break out our prickets. Regardless of the task we needed fire, and I could never make sense of it. Since his eminency, our great pontiff, arrived we traded the stories of the old gods for our own observations. Many of us did not ask questions for we had faith in the path lain before us.

To remark on the interstice that exists between the use of sorcery and faith would not be lost on many, be it that it may our faith no longer permits us to ask since we forfeited telling the old stories, the miracles, of Anor Londo. So we bring forth the flame and we light our candlesticks for services each mass. McDonnell insists that our hallowed guest be tended to in the depths of the church, he claims this is an edict passed down from Sulyvahn. What is beyond my grasp is how in a starving kingdom we need to maintain the opulence of this beast.

During feeding we're now required to light the prickets as the carriages haul his meals in. Our church has become cursed bowel and the warmth we used to bring is no longer for the people, no it's all for a gluttonous bloat. Neither the old stories or a new path have any dignity, and yet we cannot contrive meaning lest we be idolards or even heretics. O' how we are blessed by the vigilance of the virtuous! And yet they require the full service of Anor Londo's finest, to prevent harm to our most hallowed guest.

The last carriage carried a sorrowful woman in prayer with another, taller companion receiving proper escort above. To feel prisoned, I understand for as a secular man forced to breathe this miasma of ignorance and blindness, she has the graces leaving for this is not a world worth living in.

I will lay down my bident, perhaps another may have faith like a well for which it could be drawn.


End file.
